“You know it, too. You saw them in Detroit.”
“I think he means how do you know there are others gearing up right now,” Tyrone says.
“I can see them. I can see mirror-image lobbies just like ours and I can see the teams moving around in them.”
Luka’s brows shoot up. “Seriously?”
I shrug.
“Wallhacks,” Tyrone says. I lift my brows and he explains, “In Counter-Strike a wallhack lets a player see through a wall, see stuff that’s usually obscured.”
“There’s a name for this?” I ask. “A gaming term? Weird.”
Tyrone shrugs.
Luka cocks his head to the side. “Wait, I remember . . . first time you got pulled, right? You kept asking who they were, and I thought you meant Tyrone and Richelle. But you were asking about the other teams.”
I nod.
“Why you?” Tyrone asks, pushing off the boulder and coming to stand closer as he looks down at me.
“Genetics.” It’s as simple and as complicated as that. Jackson explained it to me the night he climbed in my bedroom window. “We all have some level of alien DNA. I get a double dose because I have a specific set of alleles.”
Tyrone and Lien nod, but the others look confused.
“Alleles are like different forms of the same gene,” I clarify. “So we all have alien genes, but it’s like mine are pumped up on steroids.”
“Why?” Tyrone asks.
“Luck of the draw?” I spread my hands in an I-don’t-know gesture.
“My great-grandfather’s stories were usually about boys who died,” Kendra says, as if we hadn’t moved on from that topic. Her tone sounds odd, sort of singsong, like she’s not quite in the same moment as the rest of us. Uneasiness uncoils in my gut as I study her expression. It’s blank, smooth. Too smooth. I’d like to see a little emotion there, even if it’s fear.
“He told us about how they died. In the trenches. On the beach. On long, cold hikes through enemy territory. They died.” She looks at Lien and continues, her tone devoid of inflection, “I can’t do this again. I’m afraid. I don’t want to die.”
The words don’t wig me out. Afraid is normal. We all feel it. It’s her flat expression and tone that get me. I’m worried she isn’t quite present and that could put us all at risk.
“Kendra,” I say. “You can do this. You can.” You have to. Or you’ll die, I don’t say. I don’t need to. She knows.
Her eyes narrow. Her chin juts forward.
“You’re all still here,” she says, her tone venomous now, “but we lost our whole team. Everyone is dead. You don’t know what that’s like!”
I close the space between us in three steps. Kendra shrinks back like she thinks I mean to hit her. Lien shifts so she’s half in front of Kendra. I sidestep her and move closer still.
“The only things I plan to hit her with are words,” I snap at Lien, then focus on Kendra, my voice low and even. “Do not tell me what I do and don’t know. And just to be clear, we are not all still here. We’ve lost teammates, too. I replaced a boy who died. You and Lien replaced more teammates we’ve lost. Richelle’s dead. Jackson’s gone. And I knew a little something about loss and grief before I ever got to this game.”
Kendra takes another step back. I didn’t mean to make her defensive, but I can see why she is. Damn. My team’s losing it. I need to do something to stop the fracture, but I don’t know what.
I wish Jackson were here for so many reasons, not the least of which is so that I don’t have to do this. I’d have thought that after what we faced together in Detroit, this team would be a tight unit, but, if anything, that experience seems to have driven us apart.
Kendra flinches when I reach for her. I ignore that and take her hand—the one that isn’t clasped in Lien’s—and push my fingers between hers until they’re woven together. I hold my other hand out to Luka. He steps up and we both look over at Tyrone.
“I ain’t holding your hand, bro,” Tyrone says to Luka, brows lifting, head jerking back.
“Afraid of a little skin on skin?” Luka asks with a laugh. He lunges for Tyrone, managing to catch his pinky finger.
Tyrone grunts and turns to throw an arm across Luka’s shoulder as he steps and turns, colliding with him chest-to-chest in a typical man hug. They thump each other on the back. I almost expect them to pull out their clubs and learn to make fire.
“You won’t hold hands but you’ll go all huggy- and kissy-face?” Lien asks.
Luka puckers up and makes kissing noises until Tyrone slams him with a fist to the shoulder.
“Boys.” Lien snorts.
Kendra lets out a watery giggle, then reaches for Tyrone so she’s holding his hand and Lien’s.
The humor’s welcome. They’re all letting off a little steam. But we don’t have much time. Any second now, the scores will show up and then we’ll be pulled into whatever nightmare the Drau have lined up for us.
Luka grabs Lien’s free hand. She glares at him but doesn’t pull away. I reach for Tyrone, closing the circle.
“It’s not about our team, your team.” I hold up my linked hands. “One unit. Get it? All of us are one team.” I give it a second so they can think about that and so I can get my words straight in my head. I need to say this right and I’m terrified I’ll say it wrong. I’m not a leader. I’m not.
“I think he means how do you know there are others gearing up right now,” Tyrone says.
“I can see them. I can see mirror-image lobbies just like ours and I can see the teams moving around in them.”
Luka’s brows shoot up. “Seriously?”
I shrug.
“Wallhacks,” Tyrone says. I lift my brows and he explains, “In Counter-Strike a wallhack lets a player see through a wall, see stuff that’s usually obscured.”
“There’s a name for this?” I ask. “A gaming term? Weird.”
Tyrone shrugs.
Luka cocks his head to the side. “Wait, I remember . . . first time you got pulled, right? You kept asking who they were, and I thought you meant Tyrone and Richelle. But you were asking about the other teams.”
I nod.
“Why you?” Tyrone asks, pushing off the boulder and coming to stand closer as he looks down at me.
“Genetics.” It’s as simple and as complicated as that. Jackson explained it to me the night he climbed in my bedroom window. “We all have some level of alien DNA. I get a double dose because I have a specific set of alleles.”
Tyrone and Lien nod, but the others look confused.
“Alleles are like different forms of the same gene,” I clarify. “So we all have alien genes, but it’s like mine are pumped up on steroids.”
“Why?” Tyrone asks.
“Luck of the draw?” I spread my hands in an I-don’t-know gesture.
“My great-grandfather’s stories were usually about boys who died,” Kendra says, as if we hadn’t moved on from that topic. Her tone sounds odd, sort of singsong, like she’s not quite in the same moment as the rest of us. Uneasiness uncoils in my gut as I study her expression. It’s blank, smooth. Too smooth. I’d like to see a little emotion there, even if it’s fear.
“He told us about how they died. In the trenches. On the beach. On long, cold hikes through enemy territory. They died.” She looks at Lien and continues, her tone devoid of inflection, “I can’t do this again. I’m afraid. I don’t want to die.”
The words don’t wig me out. Afraid is normal. We all feel it. It’s her flat expression and tone that get me. I’m worried she isn’t quite present and that could put us all at risk.
“Kendra,” I say. “You can do this. You can.” You have to. Or you’ll die, I don’t say. I don’t need to. She knows.
Her eyes narrow. Her chin juts forward.
“You’re all still here,” she says, her tone venomous now, “but we lost our whole team. Everyone is dead. You don’t know what that’s like!”
I close the space between us in three steps. Kendra shrinks back like she thinks I mean to hit her. Lien shifts so she’s half in front of Kendra. I sidestep her and move closer still.
“The only things I plan to hit her with are words,” I snap at Lien, then focus on Kendra, my voice low and even. “Do not tell me what I do and don’t know. And just to be clear, we are not all still here. We’ve lost teammates, too. I replaced a boy who died. You and Lien replaced more teammates we’ve lost. Richelle’s dead. Jackson’s gone. And I knew a little something about loss and grief before I ever got to this game.”
Kendra takes another step back. I didn’t mean to make her defensive, but I can see why she is. Damn. My team’s losing it. I need to do something to stop the fracture, but I don’t know what.
I wish Jackson were here for so many reasons, not the least of which is so that I don’t have to do this. I’d have thought that after what we faced together in Detroit, this team would be a tight unit, but, if anything, that experience seems to have driven us apart.
Kendra flinches when I reach for her. I ignore that and take her hand—the one that isn’t clasped in Lien’s—and push my fingers between hers until they’re woven together. I hold my other hand out to Luka. He steps up and we both look over at Tyrone.
“I ain’t holding your hand, bro,” Tyrone says to Luka, brows lifting, head jerking back.
“Afraid of a little skin on skin?” Luka asks with a laugh. He lunges for Tyrone, managing to catch his pinky finger.
Tyrone grunts and turns to throw an arm across Luka’s shoulder as he steps and turns, colliding with him chest-to-chest in a typical man hug. They thump each other on the back. I almost expect them to pull out their clubs and learn to make fire.
“You won’t hold hands but you’ll go all huggy- and kissy-face?” Lien asks.
Luka puckers up and makes kissing noises until Tyrone slams him with a fist to the shoulder.
“Boys.” Lien snorts.
Kendra lets out a watery giggle, then reaches for Tyrone so she’s holding his hand and Lien’s.
The humor’s welcome. They’re all letting off a little steam. But we don’t have much time. Any second now, the scores will show up and then we’ll be pulled into whatever nightmare the Drau have lined up for us.
Luka grabs Lien’s free hand. She glares at him but doesn’t pull away. I reach for Tyrone, closing the circle.
“It’s not about our team, your team.” I hold up my linked hands. “One unit. Get it? All of us are one team.” I give it a second so they can think about that and so I can get my words straight in my head. I need to say this right and I’m terrified I’ll say it wrong. I’m not a leader. I’m not.
